Free A Wild Pursuit by Eloisa James

as well?” Helene said, deciding on the basis of his really quite charming smile that she wasn’t insulted after all.
    â€œIt is merely that impudent little chit, Lady Beatrix,” Stephen said. “I truly can’t imagine what Lady Withers is thinking, allowing the girl to dress in that unseemly fashion.”
    Helene turned as well. Bea was sauntering across the room toward them.
    Stephen felt as if the girl were some sort of irritating gnat. Here he was, having a remarkably informed and intelligent conversation with the woman who might well become his future mistress, and there she was again. About to interrupt their fascinating discussion of religious oaths. Lady Beatrix seemed to have dropped the melancholy pose with which she had originally entered the room. She looked strikingly exotic and utterly unnatural. And potent. Too potent.
    â€œDo you know, I don’t think that is the true color of her hair?” Stephen said. He could hear the rancor in his own voice. Why on earth did the girl get under his skin in such a fashion? “Look at that bronze. Have you ever seen such a color in nature?”
    â€œBut why would she color her hair?” Helene asked with some fascination. “She can hardly be showing gray.”
    â€œOf course not!” he agreed. “She’s barely out of the schoolroom.”
    Helene didn’t agree with that pronouncement. Beatrix Lennox was obviously far too ripe for a schoolgirl, and besides, hadn’t she debuted some three years ago? That would put her at about twenty years old.
    â€œI expect she colored her hair merely to shock people,” Stephen said with a shrug. “She’s obviously artificial.” He turned back to her. “Not like you…a true English gentlewoman, bred to the bone.”
    Helene felt a pang of envy toward Bea. It wasn’t high on her list of wishes to be described as a well-bred filly at Tattersall’s. Naturally, she ought to be pleased by the compliment. But it would be fun if just once, she were considered dangerously attractive. Able to shock someone. Helene had never shocked anyone in her life. Well, perhaps her husband. There was that time with the chamber pot…Helene wrenched her thoughts away from the unsavory topic.
    â€œThank you for the compliment,” she said, opening her fan. Esme always flirted with her fan to great effect. Unfortunately, Helene hadn’t the faintest idea how to do the same thing. She waved it gently, but the only result was that she was unable to see Stephen at all. She snapped it closed.
    At that moment Bea joined them. “We have been discussing poetry,” she said with a twinkle. “And I am sent to discover each person’s favorite poem. Arabella has had the splendid idea that we shall have a poetry reading on Friday evening.”
    â€œI haven’t read any poetry in years,” Stephen observed.
    Bea looked up at him from under her lashes. “We’ll have to do something about that. Perhaps I’ll lend you a book from my private library.”
    To Helene’s amazement, a ruddy tone appeared in Stephen’s lean face. “That won’t be necessary,” he said brusquely. “I was quite fond of poetry as a boy. I’m certain I can remember something.”
    â€œHave you a favorite poem?” Bea asked Helene.
    â€œI am acquainted with Shakespeare’s sonnets,” Helene said uncertainly. “But some of them are hardly suitable for reading aloud.”
    â€œI’m sure you will find something you deem appropriate,” Bea said, and Helene was unable to dismiss the idea that the girl was laughing at her.
    â€œAnd your favorite poem?” Stephen asked her.
    â€œA love poem by Lord Byron,” Bea said, drifting away. “It’s quite, quite beautiful.”
    â€œThat girl is trouble,” Stephen said, rather unoriginally.
    But Helene had had enough of this torturous flirtation. She